The Survival
by Evangeline Elibeth Mariette
Summary: An alternate ending for The Sweet Far Thing.
1. Chapter 1

_~Beginning on page 776, Chapter/Scene 69, 6th indentation_

_*Note: the story is partly made up of Miss Libba Bray's words, so as to keep the basics the same._

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of this book (The Sweet Far Thing), the characters, or what of Miss Libba Bray's words I had to use.~

Chapter One

I'm back where I was on the frozen ground of the Winterlands.

"Kartik," my voice is raw and weak, but frantic nonetheless. I can barely whisper, and yet I know I must force myself to say what comes next. "I love you."

His eyes are wide with alarm, and then as my words sink in, I fear he might cry. "Oh, Gemma. I love you, too." His voice is not much louder than my own, and I know it's because he is trying to hold back tears. I lose myself for a moment and begin to shift a bit, as if I meant to move towards him. "Gemma! You mustn't move. If your blood falls on the ground of the Winterlands --"

"I know." With a great effort, I plunge the dagger in to it's hilt and fall back. Keeping my hand to the wound in my side, and trying not to notice the blood trickling between my fingers, I stare at the swaying tree along with the whole of Winterlands creatures, who shriek to see its mortal wound. With an enormous crack, the tree splits open and the magic inside bleeds out.

"Step away!" Gorgon calls, but not soon enough.

Every bit of the tree's power flows into Kartik. His body receives the magic like one hundred blows. He falls to the ground, and I fear it has killed him.

"Kartik!" I scream.

He staggers slowly to his feet, but he is no longer Kartik. He is something else entirely, a being etched in shadow and light, his eyes shifting from brown to a terrifying blue-white. He is so bright it hurts my eyes to look. All of the tree's power -- the Winterlands magic -- now lives inside him, and I do not know what this means.

I reach out to him, and soon realize my mistake. But it is already too late, and a single drop of blood has fallen into the frozen soil.

"It begins again!" a tracker cries to the shouts of the others.

The injured tree's roots come alive, twisting themselves round my ankles and climbing up my shins. I scream and try to move away, but I am being devoured.

"We didn't kill it," I gasp. "Why?"

"It cannot be killed," Amar thunders. "It can only be changed."

Fowlson hacks at the roots and Felicity and Ann try to pull them from my legs, but they are no match for the strong new shoots.

"I told you that you would bring her to us, Brother. That you would be the death of her," Amar says sadly.

Kartik glows with power. "You told me to follow my heart," he says to Amar, and some shred of Amar, whatever remains of him, hears it.

"So I did, Brother. Will you give me peace?"

"I will."

As swiftly as a tiger, Kartik grabs Amar's sword. Amar raises his arms, and Kartik pushes it through. Amar gives a great howl. The light is piercing and then he is no more. Kartik puts a hand to my side. The magic flares to life, and we are both bright with light, dark with shadow. His strength flows into me till the Winterlands magic mixes with the Temple magic. And for one brief moment, we are a perfect union. I can feel him inside me, me inside him. I can hear his thoughts; I know what's in his heart, what he means to do.

"No," I say. I try to break away but he holds fast to me.

"Yes, I can think of no other way."

"I won't let you!"

Kartik pulls me closer. "The debt must be paid."

Behind me, I hear Fowlson mutter. "Sahirah."

"No, Fowlson --" Kartik begins, but Fowlson cuts him off.

"Listen 'ere, I've 'ad my chance at life. The two 'o you, you ain't even got started yet." I notice now that Fowlson has let a single tear slip down his face, and it breaks my heart once again to remember what we left in the Borderlands.

"Fowlson --" Kartik tries once again, and it is I who cuts him off this time, but I am speaking to Fowlson.

"Is this what Sahirah would want?" I ask, knowing that whether she would want it or not means nothing, because I can see in the agonized look he gives me that his mind is made up. Before Kartik can say anything more against the matter, Fowlson is speaking at the tree.

"Take me," is all he says, in the clearest accent I have ever heard fall from that mouth. In but a second I can feel the vines and roots of the tree retreating off of my body, snaking their way towards Fowlson. Kartik takes a step forward, but Fowlson puts a hand up and shouts over the sudden roar.

"No, Brother Kartik. This is where I belong." I remember my feet then, feeling as if I have just learned to walk, and I take a step forward. I look up into Fowlson's eyes and lay a hand to his cheek, softly, motherly.

"Thank you," I say. For the first time I've seen, he wears a genuine smile. Then his body goes rigid with pain, his back arching.

"Stay back!" Gorgon shouts, her eyes cool.

"Blimey," Bessie says in awe.

The magic takes hold of Fowlson, and with one last, loud crack, he is gone.

The trackers point. "The magic! Have you forgotten? They still hold the magic! We might have it yet!"

Kartik and I join hands and together we push the Winterlands creatures away with the force of our magic. "This is what you would fight for? Kill for? What you would try to hoard or protect? No more," I say, and squeeze Kartik's hand lightly. "The magic was meant to be shared. None of you will hold it! I will give the magic back to the land!"

Together, Karitk and I kneel before the broken earth, laying our hands to the frozen soil. "I give this magic back to the realms and the Winterlands, too, that it may be shared equally among the tribes!"

The trackers shriek and howl as if in pain. The souls they have captured push through us on their way to wherever it is we go from here. I feel their passage. It is rather like the swoop of a carnival ride. And when they have gone, there is no one to lead the others, the dead. They stare in wonder, no longer sure what has happened or what will be.

Already, the ice that forms the ground is melting in small patches, and a sense of beginning, of birth, is upon us. But there is still something left to be done.

I look around at my friends, at Gorgon, at Bessie, then finally up at Kartik. I have an overwhelming sense of what would have been lost if he had gone through with what he meant to, and I fear my knees will give out. But he is still here, and I force myself to stand up straight and speak clearly.

"What of the tree now? I fear we may still need to take it down," I say.

"Yes, if Mrs. Spence could become what she did, then anything may happen to Fowlson, regardless of his, or our, intentions." Kartik says from beside me. The others nod in agreement and we set to work.

With the Winterlands creatures watching us from a distance, the few of us, and what is left of the Hajin and centaurs, join hands and form a circle around the tree, Kartik and I at opposite ends from each other in an attempt to balance our magic. Each and every one of us focuses our will at lifting the tree and all its roots and vines from out of the earth. With a shattering sound and light, one by one the tree's roots emerge from the cracking soil, the vines slither up like snakes towards the sky. The sight is astonishing, unlike anything I have ever seen. And then the very tree itself begins rising, and a great sound as though God himself were breaking through the sky fills my ears. The tree keeps rising, lifting several yards off the ground, the roots and vines dancing around it, and suddenly it bursts into purple flames.

"Oh," I gasp, along with several of the others. The heat rolling off of the great burning thing is almost too much to handle, but I only grip each of the beings beside me that much tighter. The giant, floating tree is growing smaller and smaller with every second it stay aflame, and soon it is nothing, the flames licking themselves into empty air the same way they came. And then it is raining ashes.

I let go of whom I now notice is Asha on my left, and then of the centaur at my right, and turn to stare out at the Winterlands creatures. The look of awe has not left their faces, and I have a feeling it will remain there for some time. They move their attention toward the sky and hold out their hands, catching the ashes as if they were snowflakes. I turn back and spy Kartik. I catch his gaze, and cautiously he walks over to me.

"I am sorry," I say, not entirely knowing what I am apologizing for, but I feel that I need to.

"Gemma, you have nothing to be sorry for." He raises a hand to my cheek, gently stroking the freshly warm skin. I lean forward and rest my head on his shoulder, closing my eyes. He wraps his arms around me, and finally I feel that barrier in me break. Tears roll down my face, soaking what is left of his shirt. I find myself hoping he won't mind, then laugh at the ridiculous thought. He only continues rubbing his hand in small circles along my back.

When I feel that I am completely drained of all tears, I pull away slightly to look around me and gasp at the sight.

"Oh, it's beautiful," I say. And it is. Every place an ash has fallen, a flower has sprung up. I notice Ann and Felicity are laying in the fresh field, and suddenly my knees go weak. Kartik catches me, but does not pull me back up to stand. Instead, we lie down beside eachother, and I find I am incredibly tired. I breathe in the scent of spring flowers and sigh, letting my mind finally wander into that temporary peace called sleep.

~Thank you to all who read this, and thank you if you decide to review. :)

*Paisley* ~


	2. Chapter 2

**~ Hello again, to anyone who reads this. I hope you like it, and take into consideration that part of it, yes, is Miss Bray's words. Please, read on!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing outside of the twists and turns put in to change the over-all ending. ~**

Chapter Two

Mrs. Nightwing waits for us in the chapel, where she cradles the body of Mother Elena.

"The creatures?" Ann asks, her voice ragged with the screams she's spent.

Mrs. Nightwing shakes her head. "Her heart. She didn't fall to them. There is that, at least."

Mrs. Nightwing counts us as we file past -- Felicity, Ann, Kartik, me.

"Sahirah...?" she whispers. "And Fowlson?"

"Yes, there was nothing we could have done," I say. "I am sorry."

I look over at the girls of Spence, huddled together. Their eyes show the extent of their fright; what they have seen tonight is beyond teas and balls, curtsies and sonnets.

Mrs. Nightwing puts her hand on my shoulder. "There is nothing more I can tell them. They've seen and they are frightened."

"As are we all," I say. A hard edge has come to replace the weariness of my voice. I sigh.

"They can't know what has happened."

She wants me to take what magic I have left and blot every memory of this evening from their minds. To make them forget so that they can carry on as before. I know I should, because there will always be those who cannot bear the burden of truth, and it will help nothing for me to add a few more girls to the list of those who do.

But it is a luxury, this forgetting. No one will come to take away the things I wish I had not seen, the things I wish I did not know. I shall have to live with them.

I wrench away from her grip. "Why should I?"

I do it anyway. Once I am certain the girls are asleep, I find Kartik, whom Mrs. Nightwing has given a room for the night, and we creep into the rooms of the girls, one by one, and lay our hands upon their furrowed brows. I watch while those brows ease into smooth, blank canvases beneath my fingers. It is a form of healing, and I am surprised by how much it heals me to do it. When these girls awaken, they will remember a strange dream, a late teacher whose name they can't recall, and nothing more. They will carry on with their days, giving no more thought to it.

I have done as Mrs. Nightwing wished, but I have not taken everything from the girls; I have left them with one small token: doubt. A feeling that perhaps there is something more. It is nothing more than a seed. Whether it shall grow into something more useful, I cannot say.

When it is time for us to visit Brigid, we find her awake in her little room. "That's awl righ', luvs. I don' care to forget, if it's all the same," she says, and there are no rowan leaves at her window anymore.

*later*

When Kartik and I are finished, I lead him back to his room.

"Kartik, I need you to promise me something," I say once behind the closed door.

"Anything, Gemma."

"I need you to promise me you will not leave me." As I say this, I feel another tear slide down my cheek.

He reaches a hand up and wipes it away. "I promise you, Gemma. I'll be right where you are, always." He pulls me to him and whispers against my lips. "Always."

We just stand there for a long while, locked in an embrace neither wants to break. Finally, it is I who pushes away.

"I must get to bed. I will not see you for a few days, I predict," I say. "Do you still have your half?" I ask, regarding the handkerchief.

"Yes. I shall keep it close at hand." He smiles down at me and kisses my nose.

"Good. We leave in a few days for London. I shall still have to curtsy before the Queen, and begin my season, and...," I trail off, thinking to myself. "Oh, no, and confront Father about not continuing my season, and --" Kartik cuts me off with a kiss.

"And then you shall stop fretting over everything, my Gemma. You must stop thinking for a moment. Your mind will thank you, I promise."

"Kartik," I say. "You are to follow me to London, aren't you?"

"Yes, of course."

"Right, silly me. Good night, Karitk." I start to pull away again, only to be pulled into a last kiss, as I knew I would be.

"Sweet dreams, my love."

And then I am out of the door and racing down the hall. When I finally manage to fall into my bed, I am asleep within seconds.

*in the morning*

When I wake up in the morning, Ann is up and dressed, as usual.

"Kartik came in this morning. I pretended to be asleep, of course. He left this for you." She says, and extends a hand, a white paper held there.

"Oh. Thank you, Ann." I am about to ask if she's read it, then think better of the idea. Of course she has.

_Dearest Gemma,_

_I have decided to go ahead to London and inform the Rakshana of _

_Mr. __Fowlson's death. _

_Do not worry, I should think they will mean no harm after what you did the last _

_time you were in their company. _

_I shall see you when you return to your grandmother's home. Please keep _

_out of harm's way while I am gone. Please._

_Kartik._

"He's rather sweet, isn't he?" I ask.

"Which part are you referring to? I didn't see that anywhere." Ann says.

"The mere fact that he bothered to leave a note at all is a noticeable improvement, though. You must consider that." I smile, and find a wave of butterflies in my stomach. "Oh, Ann. I do love him so."

"I know, Gemma. I know." Ann smiles at me, and I can see a little secret shining in her eyes.

"Ann, are you not telling me something, dear?"

"Oh, Gemma. Well...," she looks down. "You do remember Charlie Smalls, of course."

"Ann!"

"No! It's just, well... I'm a bit afraid of singing in front of him again, because I fear I've developed a bit of a crush." Ann looks down, slightly shamed.

"Ann, don't fear that, he loved you! You won't disappoint at that rehearsal, and you know it!" I say.

"You're right, I suppose I do know it." Suddenly, Ann seems to take in the sight of me for the first time. "Oh, Gemma, you've not dressed! We're going to be late!" Same old Ann, love struck or not.

"I suppose your right," I say and pull off my nightgown.

**~ Well, what did you think? Should I continue on? (I'm going to, regardless.) Anyway, hope you liked it! There'll be more soon. :) ~**


	3. Chapter 3

~ Hello, all of you who have read this! I hope you liked it! :) I'll be posting more soon, I hope. I'm currently working on Chapter Four, but I have a lot to do this weekend, so it may be a while. :) ~

Chapter Three

The morning we are to leave is as beautiful a spring day as I've seen.

When the time for goodbyes comes at last, Felicity, Ann, and I stand uncertainly on the front lawn, our eyes searching for the dust on the path that signals the coach's arrival. Mrs. Nightwing flips down the collar of Ann's coat, checks to be certain that my hat is pinned securely and Felicity's case is latched properly.

"Well," Mrs. Nightwing says for about the eighteenth time in a half hour. "Have you enough handkerchiefs? A lady can never have too many handkerchiefs."

She will be Nightwing, regardless of what horrors occur, and just now, I am glad of her strength, from wherever it springs.

"Yes, thank you, Mrs. Nightwing," Ann says.

"Ah, good, good."

Felicity has given Ann her garnet earbobs. I've given her the ivory elephant I brought with me from India.

"We shall read of your admirers in the papers," Felicity says.

"I'm only one of the merry maidens," Ann reminds us. "There are other girls."

"Yes, well. Each of us must start somewhere." Mrs. Nightwing tuts.

"I've written to my cousins and told them not to expect me back," Ann says. "They were awfully angry."

"As soon as you've become a sensation on the London stage, they'll be clamoring for tickets and telling everyone they know you," Felicity assures her, and Ann smiles. Felicity turns to me. "I suppose the next time we meet, we shall be proper ladies."

"Yes," I say. "Well, as proper as either of us can become, anyway." I smile at her and we giggle a bit. A last girlish moment to hold us off until we can see eachother again.

A cry goes up from the younger girls crowded on the lawn. The carriage is coming. They nearly trample each other to be the first in with the news.

"Enough," Felicity grouses, and slides into the carriage away from the throng.

Ann's trunk is secured with ropes. We embrace and do not let go for the longest time. At last, she climbs the steps into the carriage for the trip to the train and London and then the Gaiety Theatre. "Goodbye," she calls, waving from the carriage's open window. "Till tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow!"

I raise my hand to wave then turn back to Spence.

Within a few hours, I'll be back in London at my grandmother's house preparing for the dizzying whirl of balls and parties that comprise the social season. Come Saturday, I shall curtsy before my Queen and make my debut in society while my family and friends look on. There will be supper and dancing. I shall wear a beautiful white dress and ostrich plumes in my hair.

And I couldn't care less; I've too much of my mind occupied by a something else. Or maybe a someone else.

~Hope you liked that! See you all soon!~


	4. Chapter 4

**~All right, dudes. Chapter Four. Yeah. So, anyway, I'm getting a little scared, because I've got like 72 hits in just a few days (still can't tell if that's good or bad necessarily), but I'm not getting any reviews. Does that mean that of all the people who've read this don't like it? Or they just don't feel tempted to leave a review? They're just lazy? I don't know. But tell me! Give me reviews! I'm getting a wee bit discouraged, and may or may not continue this story... I know I said at first that I didn't care, but now I do, ha, so review yourselves silly! **

***Note: Most of the first half of this chapter (until the second *later* point) is Miss Bray's words, because she wrote out the *bowing for the Queen scene* sooo well... :)**

***Disclaimer: I do not own The Sweet Far Thing, Libba Bray does, obviously.~**

Chapter Four

The carriage comes to carry us to Saint James's Palace. Even our housekeeper cannot hide her excitement this evening. For once, she looks at me instead of around me. "You look quite beautiful, miss."

"Thank you," I say.

The seamstress is just putting the finishing touches on my dress. My hair is piled high upon my head and crowned with a tiara and three ostrich feathers. I have long white gloves that reach the tops of my arms. And Father has presented me with my first real diamonds -- in a delicate necklace that shimmers against my skin like dewdrops. "Lovely, lovely," Grandmama pronounces until she is presented with the bill. Then her eyes grow large. "Why on earth did I agree to those roses and beads? I must have been out of my mind."

When I find a brief moment to myself -- which is a very hard thing to come across at this point -- I reach into the small box I found in my room that morning. Kartik has left for me a thin silver bracelet housing several dark transparent jewels, their color one I cannot identify because it changes every time I move. I slip it on my left wrist over the elegant glove just as Tom walks up behind me.

He gives me a peck on the cheek. "You look wonderful, Gem. Are you ready to take that long walk?"

I nod. "I think so. I hope so." My stomach flips.

"Gemma, where did you get this?" Tom asks, fingering the bracelet.

"The boy I hope to marry some day." I say, and realize that I hadn't known this before I said it.

Tom chuckles, and then his face goes serious and he drops his voice low. "Gemma, I want you to know that I approve of Mr. Kartik," he says. "He seems a fine man and quite able to handle you, so he must be your soul mate; I can imagine no other man on earth who would want to deal with you and your troubles," he adds with a smile.

I pinch his arm and smile back as he lets an "Ow!" slip out. I can't believe I am saying it, but I don't know what I would do without my dear Tom to pick on.

Father comes up and offers me his arm. He is very frail, but charming. "Miss Gemma Doyle of Belgravia, I presume?"

"Yes," I say, laying my hand upon his, my arm at the proper angle to my body as I've been taught. "If you say so."

We wait in the procession with the other girls and their fathers. We're all as nervous as new chicks. This one checks to be certain her train is not offensively long. That one holds so tightly to her father's arm I fear he shall lose the use of it. I do not see Felicity yet but I wish I did. We strain our necks for an early glimplse of the Queen on her throne. My heart is beating so very fast. _Steady, Gemma, steady. Breathe in._

We move forward by excruciating inches, the courtier calling the name of each girl in the procession. One girl wobbles slightly, and word snakes back through the line in terrified whispers. No one wishes to be singled out.

"Courage," Father says with a kiss, and I wait my turn to be alone in the chamber of Saint James's Palace. The doors are opened. Down at the end of a very log red carpet sits the most important woman in the world, Her Majesty, Queen Victoria. She is rather stern in her black silks and white lace. But her crown sparkles so that I cannot look away. I am to be presented to Queen Victoria. I shall proceed as a girl and return as a woman. Such is the power of this ceremony.

I feel I shall faint. Oh, I shall be ill. _Stuff and nonsense, Gemma. You've faced worse. Stand tall. Back straight, chin out. She is but a woman. _Indeed she is -- a woman who happens to be Queen and who holds the entirety of my future in her wizened hands. I shall be ill. I know it. I shall fall upon my face and live the rest of my days, disgraced and odd, in a hermitage in the south of England, accompanied by fourteen cats of varying size and color. And when I venture out in my old age, I shall still hear people whisper, "There she goes... the one who fell...."

The courtier calls my name, loud and strong: "Miss Gemma Doyle!"

The longest walk of my life is under way. I hold my breath as I travel the stretch of carpet, which seems to lengthen with each step. Her Majesty is a solemn monument of flesh and blood in the distance. She is so very like her portraits that it is startling. At last, I reach her. It is the moment I have both wanted and feared. With as much grace as I can muster, I lower myself like a souffle falling in upon itself. I bow low to my Queen. I do not dare breathe. And then I feel her tap upon my shoulder firmly, compelling me to rise. I back slowly from her presence and take my place among the other girls who have just become women.

*later*

I have done what they expected of me. I have curtsied for my Queen and made my debut. This is what I have anticipated eagerly for years. So why do I feel so unsatisfied?

Because I do not have Kartik by my side. I have just become a woman, and he is not here to share it with me, he is not here --

It is a strange thing, this longing for another. But it is there all the same, and I suppose I am to get used to the feeling of needing Kartik with me.

Lord Denby is suddenly at my side. "Congratulations," he says. "On your debut and on that other matter. I understand from Kartik that you were quite magnificent."

"Thank you," I say, sipping my first glass of champagne. The bubbles tickle my nose. "I trust you were kind to our dear Kartik?"

"Yes, of course," he says, then lowers his voice. "I also understand that you gave the magic back to the land, that it exists as a resource for all."

"That is true."

"How can you be certain that this is the right course, that they won't misuse it in the end?" he asks.

"I can't," I answer.

His horrified expression is quickly replaced by a smug one. "Why don't you let me help you with all that, then? We could be partners in this -- you and I, together?"

I hand him the half-empty glass. "No. You do not understand true partnership, sir. And so we shall not be friends, Lord Denby. On that one point, I _am_ certain."

"I should like to dance with my sister, if you please, Lord Denby," Tom says. His smile is bright but his eyes are steely.

"Of course, old chap. There's a good man," Lord Denby says, and drinks the last of my champagne, which is as much of me as he shall ever have.

"Are you all right? What an insufferable ass," Tom says as we take a turn on the dance floor. "To think I once admired him."

"I did try to warn you," I say.

"Will this be one of those ghastly 'I told you so' moments?"

"No," I promise. " And have you met your future wife yet?"

Tom waggles his eyebrows. "I've met quite a few promising candidates for the position of Mrs. Thomas Doyle. Of course, they will have to find me charming and utterly irresistable. I don't suppose you could aid me in that pursuit with a little bit of...?"

"I'm afraid not," I say. "You'll just have to take your chances."

He twirls me a bit hard. "You're no fun at all, Gemma."

"Gemma! Gemma!" Felicity is pushing through the crowd, her chagrined chaperone struggling to keep up as the dowagers look on, disapprovingly. It is only an hour into her debut and already she has them spinning like tops.

"Tom," I say, and nod my head in the direction of Felicity.

"Right, I'll leave you to it," he says, and heads off to somewhere else.

"Gemma," Felicity says, catching up to me. Her words tumble over each other in a torrent of excitement: "You look beautiful! How do you like my dress? Elizabeth tottered a bit -- did you see it? The Queen was magnificent, wasn't she? I was terrified. Were you?"

"Utterly," I say. "I thought I might faint after all."

"Did you receive Ann's cable?" Felicity asks.

I received a lovely telegram from Ann this very morning, wishing me well. It read:

REHEARSALS ARE SPLENDID STOP THE GAIETY IS THRILLING STOP BEST OF LUCK WITH YOUR CURTSY STOP YOURS ANN BRADSHAW

"Yes," I say. "She must have spent her future wages on it."

"When the season ends, I am to accompany mother and Polly to Paris, then stay on."

"What of Horace Markham?" I ask warily.

"Well," she begins, "I went to him. By myself. And told him I didn't love him and didn't wish to marry him and that I would make a perfect fishmonger of a wife. And do you know what he said?"

I shake my head.

Her eyes widen. "He said he didn't want to marry me, either. Can you imagine? I was rather wounded."

I can't help it, and I laugh. It feels good to be with Felicity again, even though it has only been a few days.

"Paris, then. What will you do there?"

"Really, Gemma," she says as if I don't know anything and never will. "It is where all the bohemians live. Now that I've my inheritance, I might take up painting and live in a garret. Or perhaps I shall become an artist's model," she says, delighting in how scandalous this sounds. Her voice drops to a whisper. "I've heard there are others like me there. Perhaps I _will_ love again."

"You'll be the toast of Paris," I say.

She grins widely. "Do come with us! We could have such a merry time together!"

"I think I should like to go to America, to New York," I say, the plan forming with my words. "If Kartik should like to, that is."

"Oh, that's grand!"

"Yes," I say, brightening at the prospect. "It is, isn't it? Where better for us to be together?"

Felicity nods and holds more tightly to my arm. "I don't know if you have heard the news, but I would tell you before anyone else does. Miss Fairchild has accepted Simon's suit. They are betrothed."

I nod. "That's as it should be. I wish them happiness."

"I wish her luck. Mark my words, Simon will lose all his hair and be fat as Fezziwig before he's thirty." She giggles.

A new dance is called. It brings fresh excitement to the crowd. The floor fills as a lively tune gives new life to the party. Holding hands, standing together in a crush of silk and flowers, Felicity and I watch the dancers moving as one. They spin about like the earth on its axis, enduring the dark, waiting for the sun.

Felicity squeezes my hand, and I feel the slightest hint of realms magic pulsing there. "Well, Gemma, we survived it."

"Yes," I say, squeezing back. "We have survived."

*later*

The night has grown late, and I find myself wandering through my grandmother's house. I know what I must do, and yet, I cannot find the proper moment to do it. Father is in his study, and I have only to ask permission to speak with him. But I find this to be quite harder than it sounds. Finally, I make a last attempt at calming my nerves and walk right up to his door.

"Father," I say from outside the door. "May I speak with you?"

"Yes, pet, come in." I venture further into the room, already more uncomfortable.

"Father, I should like to ask you something," I say, hearing my voice as if it were coming from some other being.

"Something tells me I should be fearing what comes next," he says and offers a smile.

"Yes, well, it is just that...," I find that I cannot seem to make the words form just yet.

"What is it, love?"

"I do not wish to continue my season." As soon as the words are out, my first thought is to take them right back. But they are out, and there is nothing I can do now.

His face becomes perplexed and he sighs. "Why not?"

"It isn't that I am not grateful for everything you've given me, I am. I just cannot see myself having tea parties and dancing at balls for the rest of my life. I want -- I need -- something more."

"I'm afraid I don't understand, Gemma," he says.

"I am not asking you to understand, but to accept my decision to live my own life as I see fit. To give me your permission to do so," I say at last, taking my time to carefully pick my words. In the end, I am still not so sure I have chosen the best.

Suddenly father gives a sad smile, and I am reminded of my mother for a reason I cannot fathom. "I am not entirely sure it is so much my acceptance you need, as the world's acceptance, since it is there that you will be living out this life of yours," he says, his face still housing that small smile. My heart leaps a bit as I realize that, hidden in his words, he has accepted my choice.

"Yes," I smile back. "I suppose so."

Father goes serious once again, and then a quizzical expression comes for it's turn upon his face. "And how will you marry? Or do you intend to marry?"

I think of Kartik and a genuine smile lights up my face. Before I can catch myself and wipe it away, Father sees. I avert my eyes to the floor, feeling like a guilty child.

"Who is it then?" He is no fool, and will not be taken for one.

"Papa, will you think less of me to hear that I love an Indian boy?" I say, not quite sure why I let the the words come out of my mouth. My cheeks redden and I keep my gaze locked on the floor.

"Oh, Gemma, of course not! They are still people," he says. "And a good people, at that. Now then, who is it?"

"Oh," I say, not entirely sure he'll remember the young driver who vanished so rudely one day. "Well, do you remember Mr. Kartik?" I ask him, and wait for his answer with my nerves bunched.

"Yes, I believe I do," he says slowly. "He was our driver, yes? For a time... whatever happened to Mr. Kartik?"

"Oh, you don't remember?" I ask, taking advantage of that point. "He had family troubles and had to leave back to India for quite some time."

"Yes, well, you know my mind is not what it used to be," he says, and I wonder just how true this statement has come to be.

"Father, I," I pause, not sure how to go on. "If... if I were to want to marry Mr. Kartik...."

"Yes?"

"Father, would that be possible? What I mean is, well, can I marry him, Papa?" I say, and again, I am not sure I said this right, but I am not Father Time, and I cannot go back and say it any better.

"Gemma," Father says, and for the first time in a long time, he comes over to me and puts a hand to my face, and that soft smile returns. "Gemma, dear, I think that would be grand, if it is what you wish."

"Oh, it is." I can feel the tears threatening. I expected a bit of an arguement, and instead this has turned out ten times better than I could've imagined. If only it would stay this way forever. If only it could.

"All right, pet. Your future is yours to shape. I shall prepare your grandmother for the scandal of it."

"Thank you, Papa."

"Yes, well. Goodnight, love." He says, and pats my hair a bit. "Sweet dreams."

"Yes, goodnight, Father." I turn and walk out of Father's study, the first of the joyous tears breaking free as my foot brushes the threshold. I start to head towards my own bedroom, when I realize I don't want to be there. I need cool air on my face, and I sneak through the house to the back kitchen door.

Walking amongst the roses of Gran's garden, I feel the rest of the tears start to flow out, and I try to hold them in a bit longer. I manage to stop them for a moment and I look around me. The moonlight gives everything a silvery glow, and it is quite honestly one of the most beautiful sights I've ever bared witness to. I find a patch of grass untouched by flowers and make my way to the middle of it, where I sit down. I draw my knees in and rest my head upon them, shifting until I am comfortable, and then I let the tears flow freely. And then something rustles behind me, and I feel a warm hand on my shoulder. He has come, at last.

I move my head to look at him. His face is one of concern, and I smile at him through my tears.

"Hello," I manage to say, and he takes a seat next to me, wrapping an arm around me and hugging me tightly to him.

"Gemma?" Kartik asks.

"Yes?" The tears have stopped now, and my voice is beginning to clear along with my vision.

He says nothing, but reaches a hand up and cleans my face of the wet streaks.

"Kartik," I sigh, the smile not leaving my eyes. And there is nothing more to say, so we just sit there in silence.

Several minutes later, I find I am staring off into space, and I don't necessarily want to pull myself out of it.

"I wish... to marry you... and... to have children... someday," I say slowly, in that dream-lined voice that confuses one into wondering whether or not she really said it out loud. Which is what I am pondering when Kartik turns to me, a playful expression of shock shadowing his face, and a smile twitching at his lips, as if trying not to laugh. Yes, it seems I did say that out loud.

"Blast," I say, but smile inspite of myself. We are still locked in that embrace, sitting on the little square of lawn. I wriggle an arm free, reaching up a hand to finger one of the curls that has fallen upon his forehead. As I do so, his laughing manner fades.

"Gemma," Kartik whispers, gazing intently into my eyes. "Do you really? Would... Will you marry me?"

"Will I? Oh, Kartik, yes! Of course!" I am so happy at this moment, I fear I may explode. I need to get it out somehow, to share this feeling, so without thinking, I mash my smile-curled lips into his own. He is surprised, and laughs, but kisses me back. It is a long, simple kiss, and it evens my happiness out so that I no longer have to fear explosion.

"Miss Doyle, may I have this dance?" Kartik asks and stands, extending a hand to help me rise, as well.

"Yes, I suppose you shall," I say, and take his hand. And then we are dancing, all around the garden.

**~Remember, please tell me what you think! I'm not sure what I'm going to do for the next chapter... But I'm going to have one, hopefully! ~**


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